


The Avengers: A Documentary by Simon Edge

by whitchry9



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Documentary, Fluff, Humour, Reflection, Script Format, movie, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fury thinks it would be a good idea to have a documentary made about the Avengers.<br/>It really really isn't. </p><p>Think The Office format, mixed with the insanity of Avenging life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Avengers: A Documentary by Simon Edge

AFTERNOON. LIVING ROOM OF AVENGERS TOWER.

 

TONY STARK is seated in a large comfortable chair. He plays with the microphone clipped to the front of his shirt. He looks mildly bored.

“What is this for again?”

 

He's not wearing the typical clothes one normally sees Tony Stark in. He's wearing a Metallica t-shirt and torn jeans. There's a smudge of black on his forehead, likely from where he's brushed against his brow while tinkering with one of his suits. He is Iron Man, even if he doesn't look it.

 

SIMON EDGE speaks from behind the camera.

“We're here to see what The Avengers are really like. Director Fury thought it would be a good idea to show the public you're just like them. Human, with interests and hobbies and favourite foods.”

STARK snorts. He seems amused.

“I'm sorry to disappoint.”

He discards the microphone attached to his shirt and leaves.

EDGE sighs behind the camera.

 

* * *

 

MORNING, NEXT DAY. KITCHEN OF AVENGERS TOWER.

 

NATASHA ROMANOFF, CLINT BARTON, and THOR are present.

ROMANOFF and BARTON are seated on stools at a counter, eating cereal and toast. THOR is standing patiently next to the toaster.

 

“Is this a normal morning?” EDGE asks.

ROMANOFF and BARTON share a glance.

“No,” she says. “Usually there's more mess.”

The toaster pops, and THOR cheers, grabbing for his breakfast. He pulls four poptarts out of the toaster and piles them on his plate. He gets a glass of milk and brings both of them to sit at the table.

“Would you say those are one of your favourite foods?”

THOR looks up, half of the first poptart already gone. “Poptarts? No, I would not say they are my favourite, although I am fond of them.”

“What is your favourite food?”

Off to the side, BARTON groans, like he has heard the answer to this question before.

THOR's face lights up. “I enjoy many Midgardian delicacies, including various world cuisines, although I have to say my favourite so far is something Lady Darcy introduced me to.” He pauses, possibly for dramatic effect. “Funnel cakes,” he whispers. His whisper is still what normal people would considering borderline indoor voice.

ROMANOFF snickers. “I honestly don't know what people expect,” she says.

“What about you?” EDGE asks.

She smiles slightly. “I am fond of a good funnel cake,” she says faintly. She does not seem like she's going to elaborate.

“Pizza,” BARTON offers. “I love me some pizza.”

The kitchen returns to the sounds of people eating.

 

* * *

 

AFTERNOON, SAME DAY. BRUCE BANNER'S LAB.

 

BRUCE BANNER is wearing a lab coat and safety goggles, working at a computer. The safety precautions seem to be unnecessary. No one comments.

 

“Can you tell me what you're doing Dr Banner?” EDGE asks.

BANNER doesn't look up. “Do you have a background in particle physics?”

“Not quite.”

“I'm not sure then.”

“Perhaps you could try?”

BANNER sighs, and takes his goggles off, facing the camera. “Oh. I forgot about this. Is it on now?” He gestures to the camera.

EDGE nods, presumably, behind the camera.

BANNER shifts uncomfortably. “I'd rather not then.”

“Okay, sure. Could we talk about something else?”

BANNER shrugs.

“How about working with Tony Stark? Do you work much with him?”

BANNER shrugs again. “Tony is brilliant, he really is, but he can get sort of... manic when he's working on stuff. And our fields don't cross over that much. They could. I mean the man taught himself thermonuclear astrophysics in one night, so if he really wanted to work with me, he could. He has his projects and I have mine. Sometimes if I need new equipment, or specialized parts that haven't been invented yet, we'll work together, but in terms of tag team science? Not so much.”

“Yet,” EDGE offers.

BANNER smiles slightly. “Yet,” he agrees.

 

* * *

 

EVENING, SAME DAY. LIVING AREA.

 

STEVE ROGERS is seated formally on half of a loveseat. He is wearing a plaid button up shirt and looks mildly uncomfortable. Unlike STARK, he doesn't touch the mike pinned on his shirt.

 

“Can I call you Steve?” EDGE asks.

ROGERS nods. He looks slightly more comfortable.

“Okay Steve. I'm just going to ask some get to know your questions. Basic things really, to get a feel for the kind of person you are. Good?”

ROGERS nods. It seems that this will be easier than he'd expected.

“Favourite colour?”

“Blue.”

“Favourite fruit?”

“Oh. Um... probably watermelon, although I also love pineapple.”

“Least favourite fruit?”

“Kiwi probably? I haven't tried every single fruit, but I'm not fond of it. I'll let you know if I find something I like even less.” He laughs slightly.

“Okay, now moving on to some more difficult ones. What is your favourite technology of the future?”

He frowns. It takes him a moment to answer. “Gotta say the internet. It's super helpful. So I guess computers are a big part of that, because it's a bit hard to have the internet without the computers being there first, but yeah.”

“Least favourite technology of the future?”

He frowns again. This question takes even longer for him to reach a conclusion. “Maybe those bluetooth headsets? The tiny ones that fit in your ear and no one else can see? Those are confusing. People looks like they're talking to you, but they're not.”

“I totally agree,” EDGE says, and ROGERS looks relieved.

“What's something from the past that you don't miss?” EDGE asks, the conversation taking a more serious turn. ROGERS looks solemn as he ponders it.

“The illness,” he says finally. It makes sense. ROGERS was often sick as a child, with maladies that can now be prevented and cured.

“What do you miss?”

ROGERS looks pained. This wasn't a question he was expecting, nor does he want to answer it.

EDGE has just begun to speak when ROGERS finally says something.

“The people,” he says, staring directly into the camera. He looks sad.

 

* * *

 

MORNING, NEXT DAY. GYM.

 

ROMANOFF and BARTON are sparring on mats laid out in the middle of the room. ROGERS stands nearby, watching carefully. He smiles when ROMANOFF does an impressive move and takes BARTON down, his head clamped in between her thighs.

 

“Come on Nat,” BARTON groans. “You said you wouldn't use that one again.”

“Just putting on a good show,” she remarks, gesturing over to the camera. BARTON stares at it.

“Crap,” he mutters. He slinks off. “I'm going to go shower or something,” he mutters faintly.

ROMANOFF smirks.

“Do you and Agent Barton often fight?” EDGE asks.

She shrugs. “It keeps us both in shape. The problem is we know each other too well to do much damage.”

“That's a problem?”

She stares at the camera for a moment, then glances at ROGERS.

“What do you say Cap? Want to try?”

With a sideways glance at the camera, ROGERS nods, stripping his sweatshirt off. Underneath he is wearing a t-shirt that is almost too small on him.

ROGERS and ROMANOFF immediately break into a series of kicks, hits, and dodges that seem almost effortless. For every hit she lands, he blocks ten others. For every kick of his that makes contact, she dodges ten others. It is breathtaking to watch, like poetry in motion.

They finish up, both breathing heavily, but smiling brightly.

“Not bad,” ROMANOFF comments.

“You're pretty good yourself,” ROGERS replies. “Especially for someone without the serum.”

ROMANOFF's face returns to perfectly schooled indifference, and ROGERS recognizes he's said something wrong. He just doesn't know what.

“Another time, maybe,” she says, and heads off in the same direction BARTON left.

ROGERS stands alone in the middle of the gym, looking somewhat lost. It is an expression at home on his face.

 

He sighs, and puts his sweatshirt back on. ~~The world collectively becomes slightly sadder.~~

 

* * *

 

AFTERNOON, SAME DAY. LIVING AREA.

 

In the adjacent kitchen to the main living area, STARK is preparing himself food in the kitchen. BARTON and THOR are racing on Mario Kart. BARTON seems to be winning, but THOR is not doing terribly considering he's new to the game.

BARTON gets hit by a red shell and swears. THOR cheers and slides into second place.

 

Camera pans back to STARK. He's making himself a sandwich. His hands are still dirty with oil or grease from the workshop. He reaches for peanut butter with one hand and the other drapes across the bread leaving dark patches.

STARK puts the peanut butter on without looking and doesn't see the grease marks. After applying jam, nutella, and bananas, he slices the sandwich into triangles and puts them on a plate. He looks immeasurably pleased with himself.

STARK approaches the living room with his plate, BARTON and THOR still cheering and yelling in turn. He stops when he spots the camera.

He stares at it for a moment.

“What was your name again?” he asks finally.

EDGE sighs. “Simon Edge. We've been over this before. Multiple times.”

STARK only shrugs. “Too much going on in my brain.”

He shoves a quarter of his sandwich in his mouth and makes a face.

“God, what did I put in this?” he mutters.

“I think there might have been some grease,” EDGE admits.

STARK makes a disgusted face.

“For the glory of Asgard!” THOR bellows, and cheers as he crosses the finish line in second place. BARTON still came in first, but not too far ahead.

“Nice job buddy. Wanna try rainbow road again?”

THOR's face darkens. “No,” he mutters.

“Right,” BARTON agrees.

 

STARK shudders slightly. “Last time Thor saw rainbow road, we ended up with a hammer shaped hole through the tv. I don't even know why Clint brings it up.”

“Is it significant?”

STARK stares blankly. “Have you done any research at all?” he scoffs. He sets his plate down on the table in front of THOR and leaves the room. THOR looks thrilled, and eats it without complaint.

BARTON selects another match for them to play.

 

* * *

 

EVENING, SAME DAY. LIVING AREA.

 

A call to assemble comes during dinner, and BANNER, who cooked the meal, looks angry.

“Wait til we're there big guy,” STARK tells him, placing one hand on his shoulder.

BANNER takes a few calming breaths, and nods. His eyes flash green, but he doesn't change.

 

The rest of the team is ready in minutes. STARK calls his suit to him, which rides up in the elevator. THOR retrieves his hammer by hand, since he's been told more than once that interior walls are not to be broken. ROMANOFF and BARTON change and retrieve their gear in record time, and ROGERS appears just after them, shield in hand.

“Let's go,” he says simply.

 

* * *

 

[CUT TO: news footage of invasion.]

 

* * *

 

LATE EVENING, SAME DAY. LIVING AREA.

 

They arrive home after dark, looking somewhat worse for wear, but not seriously injured. BARTON has a laceration on his shoulder, and ROMANOFF is limping slightly, but they seem unharmed otherwise.

BANNER however is not present. HULK is.

 

HULK is enormous. He is also green.

He does not seem angry.

Instead of smashing, or doing other stereotypical HULK activities, he sits down on the floor of the main living space. He takes up a great deal of it, but none of the other team members seem to mind.

BARTON picks up the remote for the television. “What is it this time big guy? Latest episode of Dog Cops was pretty good. Wanna see that?”

HULK shakes his head.

“Dancing with the Stars?”

Again, a head shake.

“Real Housewives, any of them?” He asks, increasingly desperate.

“No,” HULK rumbles.

BARTON's head droops. “Duck Dynasty?” he mutters.

HULK nods.

BARTON sighs. “Again?”

HULK nods firmly.

BARTON puts the program on, somewhat resigned, and flops down on the couch behind HULK. His view is no doubt blocked, but he doesn't seem to mind. ROMANOFF joins him, and after ROGERS retrieves a first aid kit, so does he. THOR and STARK bring giant bags of chips from the kitchen. STARK sits himself on one of HULK's legs, and THOR drags over an armchair.

They all seem content.

 

It takes nearly an hour, but HULK shrinks back down to BANNER. It coincides with the ending of the episodes very nicely.

 

They all leave to shower and sleep. It was a job well done.

 

* * *

 

EVENING, NEXT DAY. STUDY.

 

ROMANOFF is seated in a desk chair. She looks bored. Her hair is currently shoulder length and straight. It is red, although changes almost constantly.

She is wearing layered t-shirts and a pair of jeans. Her socks are fuzzy, and her earrings are different emotions. Her left ear reads _tired_ and her right ear reads _happy._

This bodes well.

 

EDGE clears his throat. “So, Agent Romanoff.”

She does not correct him.

“Can you tell me how you met Agent Barton?”

“That's classified.”

“Favourite colour?”

She smirks. “People thinks it's black.”

“Is it?”

She shakes her head. “Black isn't a colour,” she scoffs. She doesn't offer anything else.

“Can you tell me about yourself? Some hobbies, your favourite movie maybe?”

ROMANOFF tilts her head and examines him critically. “When I was young, I wanted to be a ballerina,” she says softly.

 

It's quiet for a moment.

“And now?”

ROMANOFF looks away from the window and back at the camera.

“Now I'm working on figuring out who I want to be, not what.”

EDGE hums in agreement.

“Knitting,” she offers. “I like knitting. Especially with yarns that are soft and nearly impossible to use. I like the challenge.”

She glances out the window again.

“And rock climbing. Rock climbing is fun. Have you ever been?”

“No,” EDGE replies.

ROMANOFF continues to look out the window. It's drizzling slightly.

 

* * *

 

MORNING, NEXT DAY. BALCONY.

 

THOR is pacing from one end of the balcony to another. He is wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that he says his girlfriend, Jane, gave to him. His hammer is sitting on the balcony nearby.

“How do you pronounce it?” EDGE asks.

“Mjolnir?” THOR asks.

“Yeah. Like that I guess.”

THOR laughs. “Lady Darcy still has difficulties with it, although I suspect it is now out of jest rather than actual confusion.”

“What does she call it.”

“Mew mew,” THOR replies, smiling broadly. His smile could light a thousand candles, and probably, in one place or another, has.

 

“Is it difficult spending your time in so many different places? Asgard, here on Earth in different spots?”

THOR tilts his head. “Yes, it is often tiresome. But I wouldn't give any of them up. My family is in Asgard, my brothers and sisters in arms are here and on Asgard, and I have friends in many places. Besides, the realms you speak of are not even the only ones.” He smiles. “It is a challenge, but one that I accept gladly.”

“How did you meet Jane?”

THOR's face lights up. “She hit me with her van,” he says fondly. “And then Lady Darcy hit me with her portable lightning. It was somewhat embarrassing,” he admits, “But I was mortal at the time.”

“Who are some of the other friends you've made here?”

“All of my teammates, of course. There is also the good Doctor Selvig, who was working with Lady Darcy and Lady Jane at that time. He was affected by Loki in the invasion.”

THOR's smile darkens slightly. It is clear that LOKI is a touchy subject.

“How is your brother doing?” EDGE asks, diplomatically.

“He is well,” THOR replies. “Imprisoned for his crimes. He is undergoing treatment to learn the error of his ways.”

“Like therapy?”

“Perhaps,” THOR replies. He glances up at the sky, spinning slowly to examine the position of the sun in the sky.

He nods his head at the camera. “If you will excuse me, I must depart or risk leaving Lady Jane waiting for our courtship.”

“Of course.”

THOR smiles again, and picks up his hammer, stepping off the edge of the building.

His cape somehow materializes from his shoulder, and he disappears into the blinding sunlight, a streak of red on the horizon.

 

* * *

 

AFTERNOON, SAME DAY. ARCHERY RANGE.

 

BARTON is in the range, a place that seems like his second home. STARK built it for him, although it can also be used for target practice using guns. BARTON dislikes guns.

He is wearing a tank top that is too large for him, the opposite of ROGERS' problem. It is purple. He's wearing black tactical pants and boots.

 

BARTON stands at one end of the range, an arrow nocked in his bow, ready to fire. He looses it and it flies directly into the bullseye.

He smirks. “Easy.” He lowers the bow. “Want to try?”

EDGE laughs behind the camera. “I don't even think I could pull it back.”

BARTON laughs as well. “On this one? God no. This is a hundred pounds. But we could start you off with something easier, thirty pounds maybe.”

“No thanks.”

BARTON shrugs, and pulls out a quiver of arrows. He lines three up on the bow and shoots.

“What about you though? How old were you when you learned how to do this?”

Each of the three arrows has hit a spot in the wall peppered with holes. “Young,” he says simply.

“Have you ever thought of a different career?”

BARTON laughs, and looses another two arrows. “I mean, yeah, doesn't everyone? When I was a little kid, and I'm talking really little, little and stupid, I thought about it.”

“What happened?”

“I grew up.”

His voice is hard, leaving no room for discussion.

He tilts his head, and after making five more shots in a row, speaks again.

“I went undercover as a teacher once. That was nice.”

 

There are eleven arrows left in the quiver. BARTON beams at the camera, and beckons it closer. When he deems it in the correct position, he picks his bow up and breathes steadily.

He looses all eleven at dizzying speed, and when the metaphorical dust clears, each one has hit its target, including one carefully hidden behind a ceiling rafter.

BARTON notices the camera following it, and smiles. “Tony,” he says simply.

It is answer enough.

 

* * *

 

NOON, NEXT DAY. SHARED LIVING SPACE.

 

VIRGINIA 'PEPPER' POTTS arrives. She is wearing high heels and a tasteful pencil skirt. Her purse looks expensive and her makeup is flawless. Her appearance is utterly deceptive.

JARVIS announces her arrival to the kitchen, where STARK, ROGERS, and BARTON are present. BARTON's arm has been bandaged after the previous night, but both he and ROGERS look tired. STARK looks like he hasn't slept at all. He lights up at the news.

 

As POTTS exits the elevator, STARK dances around her like a particularly eager child. “Pep Pep Pepper!” he sings. “My darling Pep. What wonderful reason is there for you to grace us with your presence?”

POTTS frowns at him and pulls a stack of paperwork out of her purse. It is almost surprising how much she managed to fit in there. It would be surprising if she were not the CEO of Stark Industries, and thus gifted with special paperwork abilities.

STARK's grin fades. “Aw Pepper,” he whines.

“And that is where I leave,” BARTON comments.

ROGERS tries not to smile, but one side of his mouth raises slightly.

“Shut up Cap,” STARK grows. There is no bite to it.

Despite what STARK would have the media, and even ROGERS himself believe, STARK does not hate him.

(He may even be fond of him.)

ROGERS takes his leave as well.

 

STARK is not seen for the rest of the day, but when POTTS leaves, the paperwork is done.

 

* * *

 

EVENING, SAME DAY. KITCHEN.

 

All AVENGERS are present and seated at a large dining table. If one knows STARK, one would suspected it was made solely for the purpose of housing the team and their large meals. (One would also be correct.)

BARTON has made dinner, and it is a selection of homemade pizzas, garlic bread, and tossed salad. He seems pleased with himself.

ROMANOFF explains why. “Normally Clint just makes pasta. He's gone all out because you were here, and he's mostly thrilled that he didn't burn anything.”

BARTON tries to swat her on the head, but misses, and only manages to nearly fall out of his chair.

THOR chuckles, and the whole room vibrates.

Everyone helps themselves to the food, THOR and ROGERS having notably larger portions than the rest, but none of them are skimping on the carbs, even ROMANOFF.

She glares at the camera, daring anyone to comment. “Do we really need to have a talk about women and body image?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

EDGE doesn't reply. He likely values his life.

She smirks, and takes another bite of her pizza.

“Not bad Clint,” she says.

BARTON lights up like it's the highest praise he's received in his life. It is at very least, a slight overreaction.

 

Dinner ends when STARK eats two pieces of pizza and stops while dishing himself some salad onto his plate. Instead he picks the croutons out of the bowl with his fingers and examines them. His eyes are wide.

“Tony, no,” BANNER scolds. STARK doesn't listen. He doesn't even seem to hear.

He examines the crouton in his hand and stands upright, bee-lining for the elevator.

BANNER sighs. “He's probably gotten an idea. At least he ate. We probably won't see him for at least a few days.”

 

* * *

 

EVENING, THREE DAYS LATER. TONY STARK'S WORKSHOP.

 

BANNER, THOR, and ROGERS are gathered outside the door to STARK's main workshop.

 

ROGERS stands with his hands on his hips in front of the glass door. He has punched his keycode in multiple times and it hasn't worked.

“Jarvis, open the door please,” he says.

JARVIS, the artificial intelligence STARK designed to run his house, does not respond immediately.

“Incorrect code,” he says. JARVIS has a British accent, and sounds exactly like a butler should.

“Come on Jarvis, let me in,” ROGERS pleads. “Tony hasn't eaten in days and he needs to sleep. Whatever it is can't be that important.”

“Incorrect code,” he repeats.

ROGERS doesn't seem to know what to say to that. He looks to THOR and BANNER. THOR seems just as baffled, and BANNER shrugs.

“My code didn't work either.”

“Does Jarvis sound funny to you?” ROGERS asks.

Inside the workshop, there's a flurry of activity. They finally catch their first glimpse of STARK despite nearly the entire wall being made of glass.

He rushes over to the door, which opens.

“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Jarvis told me you're-”

STARK stops in midsentence after seeing the camera.

“We'll talk about this later,” he says. “Just leave my AI alone for now, okay?”

The camera pans over ROGERS. He nods. They leave.

 

EDGE inches closer with his camera.

“Mr Stark, would you be interested in doing another interview with me? This time about your technology? Nothing too complex, maybe just show some gadgets?” EDGE suggests.

STARK examines him closely.

“Yeah, okay.” He shrugs. “Whatever. Tomorrow? I've got things to finish.”

Camera pans away from STARK's workshop and towards the elevator.

 

* * *

 

MORNING, NEXT DAY. BARTON'S FLOOR.

 

BARTON and ROMANOFF are both seated on a sofa. ROMANOFF's legs are sitting on BARTON's lap, and he seems nonplussed by the situation. They are comfortable in each others presence.

 

“So, what is there between you two? Friendship, or something more?”

EDGE is greeted with silence and stony glares.

“Right,” he continues. “You two have been working together for a while now. How good are you at communicating?”

“With words or without?” ROMANOFF replies immediately.

There is silence. EDGE likely did not consider this. “Either.”

“We've mastered hand signals and... how many languages between us?”

ROMANOFF tilts her head. “I think we only share four, but between us have at least eight.”

BARTON nods in agreement. “Did you include-”

“No,” she tells him.

He rolls his eyes.

“Do you have any stories of missions you've been on that you can share? Anything funny or awful or great?”

“Budapest,” they say in unison.

“Classified,” ROMANOFF adds.

“Of course,” EDGE mutters, behind the camera. It's a common theme with them.

 

“There is the one...” BARTON says.

ROMANOFF glances at him. “Surely you're not thinking about time we went to Venice.”

“But the coffee-”

“And led to a perfectly good portion of the city being blown up,” she continued, ignoring BARTON entirely.

“I guess that's not the best story to tell,” BARTON mutters, glancing at his lap. ROMANOFF's feet are still sprawled across him. Her socks are unmatching, but coordinated, with similar colours.

ROMANOFF looks at the camera. “Sorry,” she says.

She sounds sorry, but at the same time, doesn't.

 

* * *

 

NOON, SAME DAY. KITCHEN.

 

BANNER and THOR are both present in the kitchen.

Mjolnir is blocking one of the bottom drawers.

THOR is occupied with the microwave and the bag of popcorn inside it. BANNER appears to be making some sort of pasta dish, and is looking for something. He has checked all of the cupboards and drawers except for the one Mjolnir is blocking. He sighs.

“Thor, can you move your hammer? I need to get into this drawer.”

“One moment,” he grunts. “I almost have it.”

The microwave is counting down behind THOR, and there is slightly more than a minute left on the timer.

BANNER sighs, and tries to pull the drawer open a little. Perhaps out of instinct, he tries to push the hammer aside. Mjolnir moves slightly.

BANNER stands up, obviously startled, and moves away from the hammer slowly. THOR has not noticed.

The microwave beeps and THOR retrieves his spoils. He wrinkles his nose slightly. Perhaps it is a bit burnt.

BANNER is now on the other side of the kitchen, and seems to be headed out.

“Actually, you know what Thor, never mind. I didn't need in that drawer.”

He scurries out of the kitchen before THOR can reply.

The pot of boiling pasta on the stove overflows, and the smoke detector goes off, both nearly instantaneously.

THOR sighs, and stares into the camera.

 

* * *

 

AFTERNOON, SAME DAY. LIVING AREA.

 

STARK is sprawled on a lounge chair. He is wearing a suit jacket and dark jeans. Underneath the jacket is still a band t-shirt. He has shaved since yesterday and the grease and oil smudges are gone. His socks are rainbow striped, and stand out from the rest of what he is wearing. So far he has left the microphone clipped to his shirt alone.

 

EDGE clears his throat behind the camera.

“So Mr Stark, can you tell me-”

“Tony,” STARK corrects.

“Tony. Can you tell me about your first robot that you built?”

“Oh man. The first one was kind of a failure. When I finished his coding I was running on three days of no sleep and a hell of a lot of coffee. You can kind of tell.” He sighs. “Dum-E. Not exactly the brightest bulb, as you might be able to tell by his name, but he's certainly got a personality, and can sometimes hand me things.” He shrugs. “Not always though.”

“What about the others?”

STARK shifts in his chair. “I made two more when I was still young and stupid. Butterfingers and U, like the letter. Not much of an improvement on Dum-E,” he admits. “It was after them that I realized that giving them a physical presence was holding me back. Sure, they were helpful for physical things, but in terms of processing power, they could never be that great. So then I created Jarvis. No body, less limits.”

“Yes, let's talk about Jarvis. He's the artificial intelligence that runs your home, correct? Just how advanced is he?”

STARK grins widely, showing many of his teeth. It's a predatory smile.

“Just as much as he needs to be. I mean, you've seen all those movies right? Can't have our AIs getting sentient now can we?”

EDGE makes a humming noise. “I've noticed you refer to all of your creations with male pronouns. Do you intentionally create male personalities? Or is that just how it works out?”

STARK shrugs. “There's not that much to the personality. Personality creates autonomy, and we can't have that. With Jarvis it was mostly because of the voices I chose, and with the other bots, it just sort of happened. I never planned it.”

STARK's eyebrow twitches slightly.

“Have you ever thought about writing code for anything else? Anything big, like an AI for SHIELD, or a better version of Siri?”

STARK snorts at that. “Oh honey, Siri is nothing compared to what I could do. And SHIELD? I'm not going to give them that power. That's how all those movies start you know. Best no one has the tech.”

“What about one person having it?” EDGE asks.

STARK stiffens almost imperceptibly.

 

At that moment, ROGERS enters the room. The camera turns towards him. He looks shocked to see people there.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “I just... needed to talk to Tony about something. About Jarvis,” he adds meaningfully.

STARK rolls his eyes, but gets up. “I'll be right back,” he calls in the direction of the camera.

“What is it Steve?” he asks quietly. STARK doesn't realize he's still wearing the cordless microphone.

“What's with Jarvis? He's been acting strangely lately, barely speaking, not making sense. Does he have a bug or something?”

“On the contrary, Captain Rogers, I am merely avoiding suspicion.”

Someone, likely ROGERS startles slightly. “From what?”

“Who, rather,” STARK corrects. “The camera guy, whatever his name is. Remember the rest of the world doesn't know what Jarvis can do, Cap. And it's safer that way. Not even SHIELD knows the full extent of his abilities, but I think they suspect.”

“Suspect what?” ROGERS asks.

“That I am fully sentient and self aware,” JARVIS replies.

ROGERS coughs slightly. There is a sound like STARK patting him on the back.

“I know. There you go... let it out.”

“But all those movies!” ROGERS protests.

“Yep. I showed you them so that this moment would be that much more mind blowing. People always jump to the worst conclusion. Cause sure, sentient AIs could be bad, but they can also be awesome. Like J.”

ROGERS sighs, but seems to have accepted his fate.

“But the rest of the world can't handle that?”

“Hell no,” STARK swears. There's a pause.“We can't let them know about Jarvis. They'll think he's going to take over the world or something. Or SHIELD will try to take him, and that's just not going to happen.”

There's a sigh. “Yeah, okay,” ROGERS says. It is silent for a moment. “You know your mike is still on, right Tony?”

STARK swears, loudly. There is a sudden blast of static, and then nothing. STARK appears to have destroyed the microphone.

The camera pans to a view of the hallway. STARK sticks his head out of the door he and ROGERS are in. He shouts. “I can pay for that! Also, if you use this footage, you will never see the light of day again.”

There is an audible gulp, and the screen goes dark.

 

END.

 

* * *

 

“Obviously this footage cannot be used, sir,” Maria Hill said.

Director Fury sighed at his desk. “No, it cannot. And it was such a brilliant idea. Well, at least now we can confirm the info we have on Jarvis. We'd better make contingency plans for what happens if he goes rogue.”

Maria paused. “Sir, what plans would those be?”

Fury looked up at her with his one eye and sighed again. “Honestly? Probably mostly hoping and praying.”

Maria nodded. She took the folder that contained the film transcript back from Fury.

“Sir...” she began. “How is that different from the contingency plans we have for any of the other Avengers?”

Fury glared at her.

“Goodbye sir,” she muttered.

 


End file.
